Beat the Bastards
by DistortedBeauty
Summary: Arthur is a Punk trying to get by in the scene, but an American named Alfred keeps appearing everywhere he goes. Every meeting turns into a fight... Hate will only make matters worse, especially when a group of skinheads show up one night. When one of them stumbles out of control in a drug filled spiral will the other be there? [punk Au] UsUk
1. Chapter 1: Sick Boy

_I'm strapped into my bed, I've got electrodes in my head_  
_My nerves are really bad, it's the best time I've ever had_  
**Sick boy, G.B.H.**

* * *

The smell of piss, beer, and nicotine filled the alley way as Arthur trudged on towards the gig. A bottle of beer was clutched by his hand, it was already open. A fag adorned his lips as he continued walking in the night. There were hardly any lights in the alley just loud noises from music as he got closer to the gig. His heavy boots wore him down, but he wore them every day so he was used to them. They were his buddies. The leather was so worn down at the soles and it had a bunch of unimaginable stains that he had no idea were they came from. He wore torn plaid pants that looked faded sometimes he forgot they were originally a dark blue. His studded leather jacket was adorned with hand painted band names he painted there himself. It included the Exploited, UK Subs, the Addicts, Misfits, Lower Class Brats and G.B.H. Sometimes he wished he had more room to add other bands but frankly he didn't give a shit. On the collar he hand stitched a leopard fabric but ended up giving up half way, therefore it was torn off with only half of it sticking on to his jacket. Inside his jacket he had a concealed pocket held a switchblade. You could never be too careful sometimes these gigs ended up nasty, depending on those who were invited. Underneath his jacket he wore a black wife beater which had some small holes from constant rips he got whenever he pitted and a bloke got stuck to him. The hoop belt he wore hung loosely from his waist and clinked the more he continued walking.

The music got louder as he reached the rundown shabby pub. Punks were outside smoking fags and drinking. With his left hand he reached up and grabbed the fag that was already at its end. With one last puff he flicked it away and took a swig of his beer. He actually got closer and a bloke looked familiar to him. It was his older brother Allistor. His dark red hair was styled up in a liberty crown. He wore a torn vest with patches sewed everywhere and a dirty union jack shirt under it. He had on dirty ragged jeans and knew high black boots.

"Oi so you decided to come."

"Sure mate, what else would I fucking be doing"Arthur replied offering some of his beer which Allistor chugged in response.

"I see you still have that bruise that skinhead left you" Allistor said motioning to Arthurs black eye.

Arthur shrugged his shoulder but if he ever saw that bag of shite again he would end up tossing his ass on the floor.

"That wanker got lucky." Arthur said trying to defend his honor.

Thats how it was in the scene. You had to stand up for yourself and your "friends". No one else could do it for you, only yourself. If you didn't stand up then people would see you as a pushover and use you or just end up beating the shit of you.

"Eee you cheeky little monkey, have you gone off your trolley. That sod was bigger than you" he teased Arthur lighting up a fag to smoke.

"Fuck off."

His only answer was a middle finger. Arthur ignored it and just swigged his beer.

"What else is going on?" Arthur asked

"Well music is good. Drinks, girls what else? Oh well there is something."

"What?"

"That twat came back."

**TBC**

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Ok so I wrote this up on my DeviantArt account but I felt like I would get more feedback if I posted up here.

I know I have not posted anything, but I had to! Tell me what you guys think. Just no flames, I bruise easily.


	2. Chapter 2: Fuck the USA

_cause all they want is money money money_  
_FUCK THE USA_  
_Nuclear bombs are fuck all new_  
_ you'd better start running when they drop on you_

**Fuck the USA, The Exploited**

* * *

To his dismay the person he was trying to call could not hear him over the loud music at the front. Arthur groaned messing his hair and entering the large group of people who rounded a pit in the middle pf the floor. It was hot with all these people and he knew he was stepping on others but didn't care. It happened all the time.

Arthur pushed the people to the side getting some looks or not even anything. All he wanted was to shout and punch someone in the face. He was real glad when he finally reached his destination and grabbed hold of said destination by the shoulder and yanked them roughly to gain their attention. The man turned around. He was a dirty blonde and his hair was cut like a Mohawk but it was down and only a piece of hair flicked out. He had bright blue eyes and smooth face that had no piercings. Arthur knew this face and it only caused him to scowl.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he asked.

The man shrugged off Arthur's arm from his bomber jacket that had a huge 50 painted on the back and patches strewn around.

"Enjoying myself," he said not at all faced by the Brit's anger.

His voice had no British accent, he was after all American.

"Don't be a smart ass Alfred, I know what you want,"Arthur continued to shout over the music.

"Dude, fuck off. I get to play here as well. Sorry I tossed my beer in your face that one time, but you had it coming."

Alfred gave Arthur a smirk and drank some of his beer. The Brit furrowed his eyebrow in anger. The man in front of him was so cocky he wanted to wipe that smirk off his face permanently.

"Well don't start your bloody shit with my drummer and I wont have to kick your arse, cunt."

Alfred laughed in Arthur's face. Neither noticed the circle pit get larger nor closer to them. They did not even focus on the band as they sped up their tempo. All they focused on standing against one another. Ever since they had met they could not stand each other. What with Alfred's smart ass remarks, and Arthur's short temper. Yet they always saw each other at the gigs, it did not even matter if either band performed, they would go just for the insults, and sometimes fights.

"Is that a threat, I know you'd be chicken shit though. You wont do shit, just sick someone on me...pussy."

Arthur crossed his arms staring intently at the American, "Fuck you."

Before Alfred could respond, someone pushed him into the pit. Arthur wanted to laugh but he was pushed inside as well. Both men pushed and elbowed to get out, but Alfred had other thoughts. He saw Arthur and rammed him knocking him down on the floor. Those in the pit stepped over them, even on them until some offered to help.

When Alfred was being pulled off to his feet Arthur pulled his arm back and punched him in the face. Alfred was knocked off his wobbly stance back to the floor as Arthur lifted himself off the floor with a triumphant grin. Alfred sat on the floor with a hand massaging his jaw. He too got up off the floor rammed himself again to Arthur this time he made sure to punch Arthur in the ribs causing him to groan in pain. Arthur winced but tried punching Alfred again but missed. They both grappled the other. Arthur kicked him hard in the shins only causing Alfred to grab his head and knee him in the nose. Arthur got a shot in his diaphragm before they separated. Arthur felt his nose that dribbled blood, but it did not feel broken at all. Alfred rubbed under his ribs trying to breathe before a huge man cam towards them grabbing them roughly before they could start again and tossed their asses out into the alley. They groaned on the dirty asphalt floor that was wet and tried to get up with some dignity.

They both heard laughing as they got up, bleeding, dirty and sweating. They turned their attention to the creepy laughter and from out of the shadows a couple of skinheads appeared. Arthur immediately recognized them. He knew they were dangerous and not to mess with them. They could beat up anyone and leave them somewhere to die from broken bones or a punctured lung.

"The fuck is so funny," Alfred asked as he wiped the blood away from his mouth.

The smile left the leaders face and Arthur tensed. The idiot had no idea who the hell he was talking to.

"Show some respect, I could twist your neck before you could even blink."

What made him scarier was the calm voice that he spoke in as he described killing someone.

Arthur had to cut in before the idiot got them both killed, "Twat. Don't fuck with the skinheads."

Ivan laughed. Alfred stared at Arthur and then Ivan not at all fazed. He wouldn't scare easily, not even if the Russian glared at him. He knew of Ivan, and he guessed Arthur did not know him or his group.

"Does someone need to get educated," Ivan asked flipping his switch blade and steeped closer to them and his goons followed in his steps.

He stepped closer and Alfred was going to make a move, Arthur was going to stop him but Ivan beat him as he pressed the knife against Alfred's cheek.

"This is Ivan," he informed calmly,"that is Ludwig, Gilbert, Mathias, and Kiku, they are his loyal bitches.

Ivan only pressed the blade closer to his face before removing it and stepping away from him. Alfred had a cut on his cheek from were the blade had been pressed up against his skin.

"I thought you had left England already Alfred,"Ivan said.

Arthur realized that both men knew each other and had history that most likely did not end well.

"I like it here," he said wiping at his cheek, "and I know you'll only end up missing me when I left."

Ivan chuckled eerily, "Next time I wont greet you so kindly."

Ivan moved away with his gang and made their way into the pub leaving both punks outside.

"You know, I think the German brothers are Nazis."

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**TBC!**

muwahahah! Okay I'll try to post the next chapter sometime next week since I'm still working on it and I'm trying to work on my Doctor Who Story...which will not be posted until some time on September...


	3. Chapter 3: No Hope

_I fear to lose all sympathy for the human race  
So sick of making excuse for an obvious disgrace_

**No Hope, Antischism**

* * *

Alfred opened the door to the dorm quietly. It was not his dorm, it was his younger brother's dorm. He was currently attending school abroad in London, which caused Alfred to tag along to have a place to crash. He did not want to stay back at home in the United States, especially when his parents kicked him out to the streets for being a no good punk that rather get drunk than do something with his life. His brother was the only one that cared for him that he offered him a place to stay, even if it was in a different country. He showed much more kindness than his parents, but in Alfred's mentality he did not even need them to begin with, all they did was bitch.

Yet here he was in his younger brother's dorm, sneaking in after a long night out. He was tired, and a bit buzzed from the alcohol he had previously drank.

Alfred shut the door behind him and took off his bomber jacket, tossing it on the floor and then sitting on top of. He started to remove his boots that were killing his feet and set them by the door. He could hear his brother's soft breathing in the room and was thankful that he had not woken up. He was also thankful that his roommate was not there. That french guy would always complain as to why Alfred was sleeping on the floor, or why his 'smelly' clothes were tossed on his bed. Alfred hated him...

Alfred laid down on his jacket with his arm as his pillow. He lay there thinking of the nights events and about that brit, Arthur. They always had it out for each other, sometimes they would not even have anything to do and both would end up fighting for no reason what so ever. Come to think about it, there was not a time were they saw each other and not end up fighting before the night was over. Sometimes Arthur started it and other times it was started by Alfred himself.

Letting out a heavy disgruntled noise, Arthur tried to make himself comfortable before falling asleep on the floor. He did not dream much, and anything he did he completely forget it in the morning. He was awoken to the sound of his little brother moving around the room.

Blinking a couple of times from the bright light that flooded the room from the open window, Arthur grabbed at his jacket sleeve to cover his face. It was a terrible try though since he was laying on top of it. All that happened was that he got his arm stuck under him. He was too lazy to remove it and just rolled onto his belly and peeked an eye open.

His younger brother, Matthew, was on his bed gather things into a backpack with his socked feet hanging off of the bed close to Arthur's face. He wrinkled his nose and moved away causing Matthew to notice that his older brother was finally up.

"Arthur! What time did you come?" he asked timidly. From the both of them, Matthew was the good, quiet, shy brother that followed every rule. Alfred was the black sheep who just said, "Fuck it" to everything. The only thing that Alfred really cared about was his younger brother.

When Matthew was little he would always be bullied by students at school, or even neighbors but Alfred was always there to beat some sense to their small brains. Once they saw Alfred they would leave Matthew alone and try to even get on his good side just so they would not fear the wrath of an older brother.

"I don't know...around 3?" Alfred muttered his face on the floor. His mind was still foggy from waking up.

"Oh..OK." Matthew wanted to tell him to be careful for staying out so late but he knew his brother could take care of himself.

"What time is it?"

"9, do you want some breakfast?"

Alfred nodded his head on the floor. Matthew got off of the bed, grabbed his shoes and walked out of his room to gather some breakfast for the both of them. No one else at the dorm were bothered about Alfred, because he never stayed at the dorm, he would just go there to sleep and then walk off to who knows were. He even got some of the fellas to go to gigs at times and they enjoyed it. But he did not like making friends with college students, they thought they knew to much about nothing.

After a couple of minutes he finally sat up on the floor and rubbed at his head. The side of his heads that were buzzed off were prickly against his finger tips. He liked the way it felt. He combed the longer hairs to the side showing one buzzed side to the world. He never really worse his hair like a mohawk, he just enjoyed having the haircut.

He looked to the side, there beside the closed closet door was his duffel that held his belongings which was not much at all. Just a couple of clothes that he brought from the United States. He decided he might as well dress. He moved his arm over his face to smell his arm pit. He did not smell that much and decided that he would take a shower tomorrow or something. That was thing, he did not really care for smelling too good, he just did not want to reek. He would occasionally take a shower after 3 days or so. The farthest he had gone was a month, and that had been when he was living on the streets back on the States. Being a punk, not much people cared for their hygiene. It was all a "protest" against the "normality of society."

Getting dressed into a less dirty black wife beater and ripped jeans. He put on his hoop belt to hold up his pants. He left his jacket on the floor, he would put it on once he would leave. He looked at himself in the mirror that was on the French roommate's desk. He looked at his chin and jawline to see some of the hair growing on his face. He hated shaving but took out the electric razor in the desk and just proceeded to shave. After he shaved his face he proceeded to shave the sides of his head. They were getting longer and he had an OCD for his mohawk haircut to be kept trim. It was just something that no one else understood.

After finishing, he heard the door rattle and his brother walk in caring two plates of food. He did not carry drinks because he had a mini fridge full of drinks. Alfred just got his plate and swallowed his food down. After quick more bites he finished and set the plate down on the desk.

Alfred gathered his jacket and stuffed whatever money he had in his duffel bag into his back pockets. He then proceeded to lace up his boots. Matthew stared at him taking small bites from his waffles that held extra syrup. This was a normal morning, but something was different. He could tell by the look on Alfred's face, but he would not ask.

After finishing up Alfred turned to Matthew, "OK little bro, I'm off. I'll be back later, don't wait up for me."

Matthew told him goodbye and Alfred was out of the dorm. He did not really know were to go. He could go to the regular places he always visited but he did not feel like it. He could not hang out with his band...not anymore. They decided to go separate ways leaving Alfred alone. He was actually frustrated with them for just quitting all together. How was he going to make money?

He felt the back pockets of his jeans and knew he only had a little bit of quids left. He did not want to ask his brother for money. He had done it before, in the United States. He would occasionally squat down at abandoned buildings for days and go to gigs at night. It was the way he had lived and he could do it again. The only problem was that this was not the United States. At least he had somewhere to sleep. He needed money if he wanted to do anything here, especially with something he would...do occasionally. The only problem was he did not know how to get it, he knew where to buy it but now how to earn it. With the quids he had all he could afford was a beer or a burger, that's it.

Alfred kept walking down the street with his hands tucked into his pockets and his head down. He stopped thinking, he never did like it. It would just end up ruining his day, and his day had just started. He started humming a song and nodding his head to it remembering the tune. He liked it so he kept humming until he came to a regular looking pub. Most likely it would be empty in the morning, but it was a hangout joint. The owner was cool and knew most of the people.

Walking inside, he saw that it was nearly empty with just a few heads. Some of them had their heads laid down on the table, sleeping. Others were in groups talking alone with each other. He continued to look around until he saw an all too familiar face waving him over.

With reluctance he walked over and sat down to face him. He did not know what was going to happen. Or what he had wanted. All he knew is that he could no longer leave the pub before talking...

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TBC again! Im actually writing this up fast, I wanted to take my time. BUT MY BRAIN! its like, no write now! Ok. xD This actually took me 3 days to finish up because I was lazy yesterday and I only played video games. I must warn you the next chapter has a strong emphasis on DRUG USE...I have never done any ok so Im just gonna do some research right now. But it will only get more dramatic from now on. Im having fun hehehe!

Reviews mean a lot people! Thank you so much Beth500 for reading and reviewing. Also Wierdo035 ;)

Next one will be up sometimes next week if you review, I'll post faster :D


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